


Lullaby (for a broken heart)

by netweight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode: s03e11 Mystery Spot, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-20
Updated: 2008-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-22 07:50:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/netweight/pseuds/netweight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mystery Spot" coda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lullaby (for a broken heart)

One of Sam’s earliest memories is of coming awake in the backseat of the Impala. There’s a blanket over him. His face is burrowed on Dean’s thigh, nose to the crease of denim. He’s warm and sleep fuzzy. Out of one eye he peers up, asks muffled, "Are we there yet?"

He can’t remember Dean’s face, just his voice drifting from above, "Naa. Go back to sleep, Sammy." Low, soothing.

He falls back asleep looking at the sky, blue and endless outside the window. Soft purr of the Impala beneath him, Dean’s fingers in his hair, clean brother smell all around him.

He remembers the feeling of safety and possibility.

He must have been four.

*

Wednesday morning finds him huddled in the corner of the passenger seat. He sits there and watches his brother settle beside him, watches his hands rest casually on the wheel. Watches the outline of his profile against the backdrop of moving landscape, eyes clear and freckles standing out in the white light of the morning.

Dean catches him staring but doesn’t say anything. Just shoots him concerned looks and Sam forces himself to look ahead.

The road sprawls in front of them, finally, _finally_ from the right perspective and Sam’s so relieved he could cry.

He doesn’t tell Dean of the months he spent driving alone.

*

Wednesday night he wakes up to the bed dipping, Dean’s hand on his shoulder. All his muscles clench into alertness, voice tight with fear, "What, Dean, what?"

"Nothing, Sam."

He can barely make out Dean’s shape in the darkness. Just his face tipped down, watching him over.

He goes to rub sleep out of his eyes and finds them wet.

He’s silent for a minute, throat sore when he swallows, "Dean, I…"

"It’s okay, Sam. Go back to sleep."

He stays there, a solid presence in the dark. Underneath the leather and oil, he still smells the same as when they were kids, road dust and sun baked skin. Sam breathes it in, body unwinding slowly.

The confined lines of the room blur together, black and gray.

He’s already asleep when Dean says, "We’re not there yet."


End file.
